January 27, 2012
Red tides of sky flushed out the boiling clouds
Running against a clock
The whistling that rushed through the grass carried the momentum I spun while running
Feet ripping apart wet sand and hands threading through knee-high grasses
I made my ascent to the ridge of that sand dune and quickly crouched in the wild grass
When I saw the scope of pleated shades slide shut, I looked at my hand again
A white envelope stuffed with crumpled twenty dollar bills
“Yes,” I cheered to myself
Stolen dirty moolah

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